


Watch Your Step

by HeyGoodLookin



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Crutchie deserves a love interest, Equality, Feminism, Gen, Historical References, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Slow Burn, i did research, let crutchie curse please, there's some angst because it's me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29856471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyGoodLookin/pseuds/HeyGoodLookin
Summary: Crutchie didn't know where his life was headed until he met Violet- the determined suffragette with her own story to tell.Aka. Crutchie finally gets the love story he deserves.
Relationships: Crutchie (Newsies)/Original Female Character(s), Jack Kelly & Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Jack Kelly/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer
Kudos: 5





	Watch Your Step

**Author's Note:**

> This is the reason my other story (Ain't it a Pretty Night) has gone on hold.   
> I've been working on this not-so-little story for the past while and finally thought it was time to post it.   
> I haven't edited it at all, so apologies for this hot mess of a story.   
> I honestly just wanted to give Crutchie some justice and give him some love. If this inspires others to write similar things, fabulous. If it just happens to make you smile, AMAZING.   
> Anyway, let me know what you think!! Comments mean the absolute world to me :) :)  
> Also, this is a total one-shot so I don't think I'm going to add on to this.   
> (Though I could be persuaded into another one shot if y'all like this enough)

Crutchie was happy because he had to be. If he let life get him down, he knew, deep down, all the friends and companionship in the world wouldn’t save him. If he thought about his gimp leg too much, or the fact that his best friend was aging out of the lodging house soon, he would get upset—lose sleep and not be able to sell properly. If he didn’t sell properly, he wouldn’t have enough money and then Jack or Race would notice him skipping a meal and worry. He didn’t want his friends to worry, so he made the choice to be happy for as long as he possibly could manage it.

The feat became harder and harder, though, as Jack became closer with Katherine (not that he’d begrudge his best friend the kind of joy Katherine brought into his life) but he still felt a nagging sting. Like when he didn’t sleep well and his leg would bug him on and off the next day while selling. Jack’s relationship with Katherine caused Crutchie to feel a whirlwind of emotions. He wished he could just be happy for his best friend. He wished he could watch him talk about Katherine with eyes shining with excitement, and share his joy unfiltered. But he couldn’t. The nagging sting kept persisting and kept reminding him that one day Jack would leave and live with Katherine because he’d marry her. Of course he would. And that would leave Crutchie alone. At almost seventeen years old, he saw the finish line of his time at the lodging house come speeding towards him as well. Sure, it was more than a year away (maybe two, if Klopmann pulled a few strings) but that still meant that one day in the not so distance future, he’d have to find work. There probably wasn’t much work for a crippled adolescent with hawking headlines and story-telling as his trade experience.

It was hard for Crutchie to be happy when he thought of Jack leaving and Race surly being chosen to take over. Jack had talked him about it once. “You’s t’ink I’s should hand t’ings ovah to Race?” He asked Crutchie one night up on his penthouse. And Crutchie, because he knew full well Race would make a great leader, nodded and smiled. He didn’t have much to say. He didn’t want to the leader, so he wasn’t jealous. He just didn’t want Jack to be replaced.

He was glad, that morning in October, when Jack went off to sell with Les. Jack didn’t like leaving Crutchie to sell alone, but he assured the leader he’d be fine. His leg was acting up that day and he didn’t want to hold the older boy back. Jack left Crutchie’s side begrudgingly.

Crutchie hoisted his bag over his shoulder as he examined the headline.

“New York Welcomes Governor Roosevelt! Speech in Madison Square Garden!” He shouted. A busy business man took his first paper and continued on his way. Political headlines always sold well, especially early in the morning. Maybe, if luck was on his side, he’d be done early and get to rest his leg a bit.

“Governor Roosevelt in New York!” Crutchie swung a paper over his head. To his great surprise, the paper was snatched from his hand. “Hey!” He made to grab the paper back, but stopped, his hand frozen in mid-air.

A girl, maybe a year or so younger than him, was frantically flipping through his paper.

“I know it’s here!” She exclaimed, panting.

“What’s dere?”

“The article.”

“What article?” Crutchie tried to take the paper back, but the girl wouldn’t have any of it.

“Hold your horses!” She cried as she scanned the headlines.

“What are you’s lookin’ for?”

“The National American Woman Suffrage Association…” she flipped past another few pages. “Carrie Chapman Catt was made president and _oh—_ “ her eyes widened. She practically dropped the paper in excitement. “Would you just _look_ at that!” She held the paper up so Crutchie could see. “Of course, they wouldn’t put news like this on the front page. No, the same doddery old male politicians make the headlines…” The girls’ voice trailed off as she read.

“Dat sure is somethin’,” Crutchie smiled involuntarily and tried to read over her shoulder.

“She wants to eliminate child labour. Isn’t that astonishing? And she wants to meet with other suffragists from all over the _world_ and discuss women’s rights. I mean, can you imagine? How liberating that must be? There’s even talk that she may be granted permission to speak at a national convention!”

“That’ll make folks stand up an’ take notice,” Crutchie tried not to look at the girl too much. Her face, slightly freckled and flushed with excitement, made him all flustered and nervous. She was pretty, there was no denying that, but there was something else about her. An energy he couldn’t quite place. Stronger than optimism, but gentler then blind ambition.

“What do you think?”

“What?” Crutchie was taken aback by her question.

“Of women’s suffrage. Ms. Catt believes that men and women are both equally free and independent. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I’s thought they already were. At least I’s think they are,” Crutchie said, offering the girl a shy smile.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You truly believe that?”

“Sure I’s do.”

“If women were equal, we would be paid the same as men, be able to do the same jobs as men, and be able to vote just the same as men.”

“Oh,” Crutchie’s face fell. “I’s sorry, I’s just—“

“Oh no, don’t apologize,” the girl cut him off. “I’m sorry. I can get a little… much.”

“S’fine,” Crutchie felt his face heat up as they made eye contact. “I’s—uh— bettah get ta sellin’ my papes, though. S’been nice talkin’ to ya. You’s got a name?”

“Violet,” she grinned up at him. “Just like it says.”

“Huh?”

“Right there,” Violet held open the paper again. She pointed to a quote somewhere near the middle of the article.

“Ms. Catt will give a voice to many who do not have one…” Crutchie read slowly. He was getting better at his letters, thanks to Davey, but he was still pretty slow. “Miss Violet Lethbrow, a member of the women’s youth movement…whoah, you’s a politician?”

Violet laughed, a loud, brassy kind of laugh that made passers-by jump and Crutchie beam from ear to ear.

“Hardly!” She cried. “I just happened to be attending one of their rallies.”

“But you’s part of a group?”

“Me and some of the other girls from the factory, yes.”

Crutchie made to sell a paper to a man, but Violet held him back. “How much for the whole stack?”

“What?”

“How many do you have?”

“Fifty!”

“I’ll take the whole lot. Here,” Violet handed him a five dollar bill. “The girls’ll all want a copy. Besides, ain’t every day you get your name in the paper!”

Crutchie eyed the five dollar bill carefully. “Dis is an awful lot, ya know.”

“I know,” Violet held out her hands. “I’ve been saving.”

“If you’s sure…?”

“Hand them over.”

Crutchie shucked his bag off his shoulder and handed it over to the girl. “S’easier ta carry usin’ a bag.”

“But it’s yours.”

“So? You’s can give it back later.”

“Oh,” Now it was Violet’s turn to be taken by surprise.

Crutchie, however, took her shock to be a bad thing. “Jeez, I’m real sorry, Miss. I’s didn’t mean ta be so forward. You’s don’t have ta—I mean— sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Violet felt her face heat up. The boy, he was so kind and his face was so honest. She wanted to trust him. “I’d like to see you again.”

“Ya would?”

“Sure,” Violet smiled up at the boy. “I didn’t catch your name, though.”

“It’s Crutchie.”

“Crutchie?”

“Yeah,” he adjusted his crutch nervously. “S da name I’s got at da newsies lodgin’ house. Cause I’s a gimp an’ all.”

“Don’t say that,” Violet took a step towards him.

“What? Dat I’s a gimp? They’s don’t mean ta be mean, Violet. They’s me brothers.”

“You’re not a gimp. You’re human being, same as the rest of us. You’re worthy of just as much respect.”

Crutchie didn’t know what to say. There was a blazing sense of justice and truth in Violet’s eyes and he felt drawn to it. He’d learned, in his years of walking and living on the streets, that though his friends were kind to him, most people weren’t. Especially strangers he’d hardly met.

“I’s—uh—goin’ for suppah with da fella’s to Jacobi’s tonight, but I’s could meet ya before or—I’s don’t know what you’s feel comfortable doin’,” his eyes darted around nervously. Lord, he had no idea what he was doing. He’d watched Jack talk to girls; watched the way he’d sweet talk Katherine sometimes, but he couldn’t muster up any of that. He couldn’t bring himself to say the kind of words that Race or Spot used. (Frankly, the more he looked at Violet, the more he realized she’d most likely have his hide for calling her _toots_ or _doll_.)

Violet felt herself blushing in spite of herself. Nobody ever paid attention to her. Nobody ever listened to her. She’d been, up until that moment, invisible.

“Or…I could join you for supper. I mean,” she cleared her throat nervously. “If you don’t mind me intruding on your friends.”

“You’s ain’t intrudin!” Crutchie exclaimed, maybe a little too loudly.

Violet managed a small grin at this. “I’ll see you then.”

“We’s usually dere ‘round five thoity.”

“Perfect.”

“An you’s know where Jacobi’s is?”

“I’ve gone there more than a few times,” said Violet.

They glanced at each other nervously for a moment.

“So I’s—uh—see ya, den,” Crutchie met her gaze and held his breath. Blazing brown eyes, like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Violet swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“T’anks for buyin’ me papes.”

“Thank you for listening to me.”

“Anytime,” Crutchie smiled and watched her run off with his bag over her shoulder.

***

Jack, as Crutchie suspected, was elated when he found out about his dinner plans.

“So you’s meetin’ a _goil_ for _dinner?”_ Jack nudged Crutchie’s shoulder playfully. They were sitting out in his penthouse as the boys played a spirited game of poker before heading out to dinner.

“She’s droppin’ off me bag.”

“Don’t sound like it’s jus’ dat.”

“Probably is, though,” Crutchie shrugged. He didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Jack knocked his cap off his head and messed up his hair playfully. “Not with a handsome mug like yours, Crutch. She’s gonna be smitten in no time.”

“You didn’t see her, Jack. She’s…” his voice trailed off as a fierce blush graced his face.

“She’s a looker ain’t she?”

Crutchie flushed even further and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, she’s real pretty.”

“N’smart?”

“Real smart. She’s a suffragette.”

“Dat so?” Jack grinned. “Bet Katherine would get along real well with her.”

“Yeah,” said Crutchie softly. “I’s t’ink she would.”

“An’ she bought all ya papes.”

“Every last one. An’ gave me a whole five dollars for ‘em.”

“Dat’s a lot, considerin’ she woiks in a factory.”

Crutchie frowned at this. “Those places are hell,” he said this to no-one in particular. “No goil should evah have ta woik in a place like dat.”

Jack nodded, but didn’t say anything. After all, what was there to say? The conditions for factory workers, especially female ones, were common knowledge. Two of the lodging house boys had mothers who had died because of factory accidents.

“You’s gonna be fine, Crutch,” Jack got up and offered him a hand. “Besides, we’s all gonna be dere if you’s need. Or we’s can give ya space if you’s wanna be alone.”

“I’s—I—“ Crutchie felt a wave of fear wash over him. The boys were starting to get washed up for supper.

“Whoah pal, s’fine,” Jack put a calming hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be right dere with ya. I’s make sure none o’ da fellas joke around.”

“It’s—it’s not da jokes I’s worried ‘bout,” Crutchie tried to steady his breathing. “It’s me.”

“You’s get nothin’ ta worry ‘bout. Like I’s said, you’s a regular ol’ heartbreaker.”

“Yeah, with a gimp leg an’ a whole lot o’ baggage.”

Jack sighed and squared off with the boy. “You know I’s hate when you’s talk like dat, kid. You’s got nothin’ ta worry ‘bout. I promise ya.”

“What if I’s don’t know what ta say?”

“Den tell her ‘bout da strike.”

“What if I’s say somethin’ dumb?”

“Den laugh it off,” Jack grinned. “Hey, it woiks for Race.”

This made Crutchie laugh.

The boys sat around their customary two tables, Crutchie running a hand through his hair nervously. He’d left his cap at the lodging house (as per Jack’s suggestion) and used some of Racetrack’s hair wax ( _so’s ya look real put togethah like,_ the Italian had explained), but he still felt incredibly nervous.

“Time is it?” He leaned forward to look out the window.

Race checked his pocket watch with a dramatic sigh. “Jesus, five twenty-five. You’s got ants in ya pants or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’ is right,” Mush snickered.

“Eh, shut it,” Crutchie flopped back against the booth again.

“Don’t worry, she’s comin’,” said Jack.

“I dunno, Jackie.”

“No, I mean, she’s comin’. I see a goil carryin’ a bag right dere.”

Crutchie just about jumped out of his seat.

“Easy dere hot pants,” Race grinned. “Here she comes.”

“Oh God,” Crutchie tried to take deep breaths. A wild mess of curly red hair came bounding into the deli, all flushed and vivacious energy, and Crutchie forgot his name, let alone a clever quip to start things off.

“You’s fine, kid,” Jack whispered. Crutchie nodded stiffly and got up from his seat.

“H—hi,” he hobbled over to where Violet stood by the entrance.

“Hi,” she offered him a small, nervous smile.

“You’s brought my bag.”

“Well, you do need it.”

“Yeah,” Crutchie scratched the back of his neck. Violet passed him is bag and cleared her throat. God, he was drowning in confusion. Violet was so pretty and different and full of life and he hardly knew what to do with himself. “I’s—uh— got ta sell some extra papes today t’anks to you’s.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Crutchie shifted slightly. “So I’s could treat ya ta somethin’ if you’s want. I mean, if dat ain’t too forward or you’s already ate or…”

“You don’t have to pay for me,” Violet’s eyes widened. She didn’t want to feel like she owed the boy anything. He seemed so kindly and true, but she hardly knew the boy. She’d been fooled before. His expression fell and instantly Violet knew she’d said the wrong thing. “I don’t mean to say that I wouldn’t like to have supper with you. I would just rather pay for my own food.”

“But you’s bought all me papes. ’S da least I’s can do ta repay ya,” Crutchie tried.

“All the ladies have already paid me back, so I only spent a few cents. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’s don’t have ta stay, ya know. If you’s don’t want to,” Crutchie wanted to give her the option to leave. After all, he still couldn’t believe that someone like Violet could want to spend time in his company.

Violet felt her face heat up in embarrassment. Did he want her to go? “I do want to…” She paused and collected herself. “Stay, I mean. I want to stay. Unless you don’t want me to?”

“No!” Crutchie cried in shock. He blushed when he realized how loud his outburst had been and looked down at his worn boots. “I’s—uh—I’s want ya ta stay.”

“Okay,” Violet smiled that small nervous smile again. She didn’t like how nervous she felt around the boy. She’d never felt that way before. She’d never had a boy so much as look at her before.

“How ‘bout we’s split somethin’. I can pay for half and you’s pay for half so we’s call it even.”

“That would be perfect.”

“Right den,” Crutchie lead her over to a separate table, choosing to ignore Jack’s raised eyebrow and Racetracks low whistle. “Jus’ ignore dem,” Crutchie tried to keep his face from heating up again.

“Those your friends?”

“Yeah.”

“They seem nice,” Violet waved over at Jack, who tipped his hat to her.

“Yeah, they’s real great,” Crutchie smiled. “They’s me family.”

“You live with them?”

“At the newsies lodging house, yeah.”

Violet nodded at this. “I heard about the strike. Were you involved in that?”

“Yeah, me an’ all da boys were.”

“That’s remarkable,” Violet’s eyes widened. “To take a stand and not back down until justice is served.”

“Ain’t dat what you’s doin’ too?” Crutchie’s leg twitched nervously. Her smile was entirely too distracting for his liking.

“I suppose so,” Violet’s voice lowered slightly, her confidence wavering under his admiration. “Do you like French fries?”

“I—uh—yeah, ‘course I do.”

“Would you like to split a plate?”

“S—sure,” Crutchie couldn’t keep his good leg from jigging nervously. “So—uh—do you’s go ta a lot of dese protests an’ rallies?”

Violet cleared her throat again as Crutchie waved the deli owner over and ordered their food. She wanted to tell him about all the demonstrations she’d been to. She wanted to tell him about her signs and her petitions. A tall, thin, elegant girl came into the deli and sat beside the newsie who had tipped his hat to her. Violet was once again reminded of, despite her enthusiastic personality, she had shortcomings. She didn’t look or act anything like other girls.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” her voice lacked the confidence it had on the street earlier that day. “You don’t have to be nice to me just because I bought your papers.”

Crutchie held his breath in shock for a moment. Did she really think that? That he was just doing this to thank her for buying his papes?

“Hey,” he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I’s wanna spend time with ya. Dis has nothin’ ta do with papes or money. I’s jus’—God, I’s really makin’ a mess outta this ain’t I? I jus’ wanna spend time with you’s. I ain’t got no other reason.”

Violet stared down at her placemat. “You really mean that?”

“Course I’s do.”

“Because I don’t look anything like her,” she made a vague gesture towards Katherine. “Or any other girl for that matter.”

“So?”

Violet sighed. “Do I really need to spell this out for you? I just don’t understand why you would want to spend time with someone like me. I’m not like other girls. I don’t wear corsets and my hair is always a mess and—“

Crutchie placed a hand over hers without thinking, affectively stopping her, mid-sentence. “Ya remember what you’s told me before?”

“What?”

“Dat you’s worthy of respect, jus’ da same as everyone else.”

“Oh,” Violet wanted to pull her hand back, but the soft stroking of his thumb calmed her nerves. It also set her heart fluttering a mile a minute, but she tried to ignore that.

“I’s don’t care if you’s different. In case ya hadn’t noticed, I kinda am too. You’s don’t mind dat I’s different, right?”

Violet sat taller. “Of course not!”

“Den I’s don’t care dat you’s different. Maybe dat’s why I’s like ya in the foist place… ‘cause you’s different.”

“You— you like me?”

“Well, I…yeah…” Crutchie’s voice trailed off as a plate of French fries was placed in front of them.

Violet blushed and smiled up at him, their hands still connected. She looked sideways at the small assortment of condiments in glass jars.

“You know what I _love_ on French fries?”

“Vinegar?” Crutchie eyed the jar with a small grin.

“Yes!” Violet exclaimed excitedly.

“Me too!” Crutchie poured some on their food. “Race t’inks it’s _disgustin’ ‘cause they’s get all mushy an’ gross._ ” He imitated his friends’ disgruntled Italian commentary perfectly.

Violet laughed loudly. “What does he know?”

“Dat’s what I’s say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack watched the pair. He nudged Katherine lightly.

“They’s cute ain’t they?” He grinned.

Katherine giggled quietly. “Yes, they make quite a pair.”

All too soon, Crutchie found himself walking Violet home. They talked (once, Violet talking so excitedly and captivatingly, that Crutchie practically walked into a lamp post) and enjoyed each other’s company far more than either of them could have ever imagined. To Violet, Crutchie seemed so kind, and far too good to be true. To Crutchie, she seemed far out of his league in every possible way.

“Here’s fine,” She stopped once they reached the top of a block filled with tenement housing.

“I’s take ya home,” Crutchie insisted. He didn’t like the idea of her walking, even half a block, alone in a rough neighbourhood.

“I walk home all the time.”

“I’s sure ya do. Jus’ let me—“

“It’s fine,” Violet insisted, her voice clipped and even. “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Crutchie held his breath as she took a few steps away from him.

“Crutchie?” She turned to face him again. “Thank you. For a wonderful evening.”

“Ain’t no problem, Violet.”

“I had a wonderful time.”

“Charley.”

“What?”

“M’name,” Crutchie tried not to mumble. “My name’s Charley Morris.”

“I like that,” Violet smiled warmly. “I’d like to see you again, Charley.”

“Ya would?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Jeez—I mean, if you’s wanna split a soda some time…”

Violet flushed at the thought. “I work at the textile factory on Johnson. I’m usually done by five.”

“I’s usually done sellin’ by then too.”

“You could meet me?”

“Y—yeah,” Crutchie stuttered at the mere thought of _escorting_ her from work. Violet made to turn away, but something pulled him to keep her back. “Hey!” He flinched at the desperation in his voice. “I’s—I’s had a real good time too.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Real nice.” He wanted to lean forward that extra inch and kiss her. Kiss her right there under the flickering street lamp. Kiss her because she was incredible and he’d probably never get the chance again. Kiss her like he’d seen Race sneak a kiss with his sweetheart. Kiss her like Jack sometimes kissed Katherine in front of her boarding house when he thought no one was looking. And for a fraction of a second, Crutchie thought Violet was leaning in closer.

Her face fell slightly though. “I really do have to go.”

 _Right_ , Crutchie thought rationally, _she wouldn’t want me ta kiss her right here on the street._ “Ya won’t let me take ya home?”

“I can take it from here,” Violet said and turned on her heel.

Crutchie wanted to trust her. He wanted to believe that she’d be okay. Maybe she just had really strict parents who didn’t want her bumming around with a street rat. Maybe she didn’t want her parents seeing her with a boy. Crutchie went through every reasonable explanation for her behaviour before he finally took off after her. He didn’t want her to notice, though, so he stayed a ways behind. He saw the building she entered and shivered. He remember life in tenement housing too well. He’d been five at the time, and sick with polio while his father worked himself into an early grave and his mother died giving birth to his sister. He remembered the cold, the damp draft, and the peeling wallpaper. He remembered the cramped room and the single bed. He remembered it and feared Violet’s case to be even worse than his had been. The buildings looked even smaller and even more run down than the ones from his childhood.

Once Violet closed the door behind her, Crutchie made his move. He hobbled to her building and hid in the shadows so he could see into the window, but not be seen from inside. It took all of ten seconds for him to realize why Violet wanted to make her way home alone. A man, who Crutchie assumed was her father, was shouting and waving a bottle around. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew the type all too well. Racetrack’s father had come looking for son at the lodging house a handful of times, each time resulting in Race losing almost a week’s worth of sleep.

Crutchie couldn’t watch it. He couldn’t stand by and watch this incredible girl, he’d only just met, get hurt. Without even thinking of the consequences, he opened the door and pulled himself up to his full hight.

“The hell is this?” The drunken man slurred, half amused, half belligerent.

Violet seemed frozen on the stop. She opened and closed her mouth, but no words came out.

“You’s drunk,” Crutchie stated. He hated the quiver in his voice. It gave his fragility away far too easily. Even in the face of danger, he was too good of a person to do any real damage to anyone.

“And what of it?”

“Don’t yell at your daughter an’ scare her when she ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Violet’s father let out a kind of barking laughter. “You call making a damn fool out of herself every other day at those damn protests, nothing wrong?”

“She’s jus’ standin’ up for herself!”

“And who are you to care about what she does and says, boy?” 

“I’s—“ Crutchie stumbled slightly when the man took a fast step towards him. “I’s jus’ care, alright? An I’s don’t wanna see her gettin’ hurt by the likes o’ you.”

“How very _brave_ ,” the drunk emphasized the word with a sneer. “What’re ya gonna do? Whack me over the head with your crutch? You can’t do shit, cripple.”

“Father!” Violet cried, finally coming out of her daze. “Don’t say that. Don’t—“ she turned to face Crutchie. “He doesn’t mean that. He’s just had a bit much to drink and you—“ she tumbled over her words. “You should go.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere s’long as you’s gotta stay with him.”

“Then go, girl!” Violet’s father cried with a laugh. “See if I care!”

Violet stared at her father for a moment as Crutchie swayed, weighing his options.

“And who will pay the rent? Who will check up on you to make sure you aren’t choking on your own vomit?” Violet shouted, finally finding her voice. Her body shook with a mix of rage and overwhelming shame.

Violet’s father seemed to find her words amusing. “You think so fucking highly of yourself, don’t you? Little miss woman’s rights shoutin’ her words all over the place. Well, you know what?” He stumbled slightly and leaned against the wall. “I don’t need you, so get out.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Violet mumbled and stared at her worn boots.

“You should have thought of that before you went and crossed me then, huh, girl?”

“Father I—“

“Get out” he barked, this time more aggressively. He made to grab her arm, but Crutchie dove in front of her.

“Don’t you’s lay a hand on her,” he voice lowered to a level that was altogether foreign to him.

Violet, realizing a fight was mere seconds away, turned on a dime and dashed out the door. If she ran, Crutchie wouldn’t have any reason to stay. He wouldn’t get hurt. She didn’t know where she was going, but the cool fall air was welcome.

Crutchie didn’t bother two look twice at Violet’s father. He saw Violet run and slammed the door shut after himself. He followed her all the way to the end of the street where she sat down on a bench, her shoulders shaking with adrenalin and unshed tears. Crutchie realized how fragile the moment was. He knew he had to be extremely careful. He knew, because he’d woken many a boy up from a nightmare (Jack’s being particularly bad) and he understood how gentle the approach had to be.

He hesitated a few feet away from her and waited. Once he was sure she knew he was there, he hobbled closer until he was sitting beside her. He didn’t look at her. He waited for her to look at him first and when she did she whipped her head back down again. Crutchie took a deep breath and glanced over at Violet, all stiff upper lip and unreadable.

There was a moment; suspended in mid-air that seemed so heavy it made breathing impossible. Violet met Crutchie’s gaze and —

“He wasn’t always like this.”

Crutchie flinched. “That don’t make it right.”

“Yeah, well, what can we do about it? You know just as well as I do that every second family on this street lives with this. Mr. Melnik two doors down drinks himself into such a state that he can’t make it up the stairs most nights. Mrs. Carlson burned her daughter with an iron and made her lie about it and I only know, because I had to treat the burn. I am by far not the only girl to come from a family like this, I just…I didn’t want you knowing about it.”

Crutchie understood with blistering clarity because as welcoming and safe as the lodging house is, it was filled with nightmares and abuse. Jack’s father, Race’s father, Mush’s mother; all parents who maybe, in Crutchie’s opinion, weren’t equipped to have children and surely couldn’t deal with it. At least, they couldn’t deal with children on top of poverty and chronic fatigue.

“I’s understand,” he said softly. “I’s had ta stay with me uncle after me Ma died an’, well, he wasn’t too keen on takin’ in a cripple.”

Violet held out her hand shakily but relaxed when Crutchie took it. “Did he hurt you?”

“Sometimes,” Crutchie sighed. “But it was mostly ‘cause I’s kinda slow an’ didn’t move good. Your ol’ man… does he…?”

“Sometimes,” Violet repeated Crutchie’s answer with a casual dismissive lift of her shoulder.

“Do you’s have a place ta go? Ya know, if it get’s real bad?”

“I…”

“Cause if ya don’t, I’s can talk ta Jack an’ I’s sure you’s could stay with us,” Crutchie said hopefully and gave her hand a light squeeze.

Violet practically melted at the thought of a safe place to sleep. Had she not been so tired and scared, she would have said no, but she had to work and sleep and both seemed impossible to achieve without Crutchie’s help.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Course not!” Crutchie exclaimed with a gentle smile. “There’s always a spare bunk or somethin’.”

“Only, I have to work tomorrow and there’s a rally later during the day.”

“Ain’t no problem, Violet,” Crutchie stood up and adjusted his crutch, all the while still holding her hand.

She noticed him flinch slightly and frowned. “Are you okay to walk?”

“Course I am. Just,” Crutchie flashed her an encouraging smile. “I’s been on my feet all day an’ me leg kinda acts up at night. Nothin’ I’s can’t handle, though.”

“Here,” Violet put her arm around his torso. “You can lean on me as much as you need.”

“I’s fine Vi— really—“

But then Violet looked up at him, all firm and so caring, and Crutchie didn’t mind the help at all. In fact, they seemed to be helping each other.

They made their way back to the lodging house in relative silence. Crutchie wasn’t sure what to say and Violet wasn’t sure what to expect. The boys seemed nice when she’d seen them in the deli, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust them enough to stay with them. Crutchie sensed her nervousness and squeezed her hand as they approached the lodge.

“Jack, he’s real great, he’ll be fine with you’s stayin’.”

Violet nodded at this and squeezed his hand back. Crutchie knocked on the door, only to have to burst open a second later.

“Da hell have you’s been?” Jack’s eyes looked wild with worry. “Klopmann was jus’ about ta lock up da place an’ curfew— Jesus!” He noticed Violet’s wide eyes and stopped.

“I’s real sorry, Jackie,” Crutchie tried not to avoid eye contact. “I’s walkin’ Violet home an’, well, she’s in a bad way right now. Needs a place ta stay for tonight.”

Violet took a small step back under Jack’s concerned expression. “I don’t have any money,” she said quietly. “And I don’t want to bother you or anything.”

Jack stood aside and quickly shook his head. “Ain’t no bother. You’s need a place ta stay, you’s can stay here anytime.”

“Won’t your landlord mind?”

“Nah, I’s butter him up real good,” Jack grinned down at the girl. “‘Sides, Klopmann ain’t gonna turn away someone who needs a safe place ta sleep.”

Violet nodded and allowed herself to be lead into the warmth of the lodging house, affectively leaving her old life behind her and a new life begin.

Crutchie was relieved to find that most of littles and boys had gone to bed. He didn’t want curious eyes and eager question bombarding Violet. He saw Racetrack’s empty bunk and raised an eyebrow at Jack, who was trailing in behind them.

“Race not back yet?”

“No,” Jack whispered. “He’s been gone since suppah.”

“Dat’s da second time dis week,” Crutchie whispered back and handed Violet a spare blanket.

“I’s talked ta him,” Jack sighed. “Ain’t no use. S’in one ear an’ out the othah.”

Crutchie frowned. “He’s been sellin’ alrigh’ though.”

“Yeah, but he’s been tryin’ ta make a bit extra what with t’ings gettin’ more serious with his goil an’ all.”

“Right,” Crutchie watched Jack run a hand over his face. “You’s doin’ da best ya can for him, Jackie. He needs ta make his own choices an’ his own mistakes.”

“I know, s’just…” Jack exhaled shakily. “I’s worried ‘bout him… out gamblin’ an’ playin’ cards all night. Spot brought him back the other night an’ he wasn’t too happy ‘bout it, let me tell ya.”

“Yeah, I’s can imagine. What happened?”

“Dunno,” Jack looked around and made sure the boys were asleep. “Spot said he found ‘em at some gamblin’ hall half soused an’ out three dollars.”

“Jesus,” Crutchie cursed under his breath.

“Spot even payed Klopmann so’s Race could keep his bunk.”

“I know it’s not my place,” Violet hesitated as she glanced between the boys. “But have you tried talking to this boy as a group.”

“You’s mean all of us?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, maybe he’d listen to all of his friends instead of just one or two. If all of you came together and offered to help him, maybe he’d listen.”

“Dat ain’t a bad idea,” Jack nodded his approval. “You’s a smart one, huh?”

“I was top of my class when I was in school,” said Violet proudly.

Crutchie smiled at her. “Maybe you’s can come ta learn here a bit? S’jus’ Klopmann who teaches us our numbers an’ letters, but Davie’s real smart an’ sometimes he brings them books he uses in school for us ta use. S’usually after suppah, ‘cause dat’s when we’s not sellin’.” 

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“You kiddin’?” Jack chuckled under his breath. “Klopmann would die happy havin’ someone who actually listens sit in dat school room.”

Violet’s lip twitched in amusement. Crutchie glanced around at the sleeping newsies and hovered by an empty bunk.

“You’s can stay here or…” he looked at Jack. “Dere’s always da attic. It ain’t as warm as here, but at least you’ll have your space.”

“Yeah, I’s t’ink there are a couple spare bunks up there,” said Jack. “You’s jus’ gotta bring up some blankets an’ a pillow.”

“Alright,” Crutchie tried not to blush as he looked over at Violet. “You’s wanna stay here in da bunk room or I’s can fix up da attic for ya?”

“I can help you with the attic,” Violet replied softly. “You know, in case your friend comes back and need his bunk.”

“Okay,” Crutchie lead her up the stair to the attic, but didn’t fail to notice the sly grin and chuckle Jack sent his way. He waved off his friend’s amusement and glanced back at Violet. “You’s okay?”

“Oh yeah,” she said quickly. She noticed how Crutchie was grasping the hand railing with white knuckles and rushed forward to his side. She waited for him to get used to her proximity and slowly put her arm around his torso. “You can lean on me,” she whispered.

“T’anks,” Crutchie mumbled, slightly ashamed, but more flustered than anything else. Together, they made it up the stairs and were pleasantly surprised to find the space fairly well kept. Crutchie figured he knew why (some of the boys’ romantic escapades weren’t exactly discrete) but he decided to keep that bit of information to himself. He didn’t exactly want Violet thinking he had lead her up to some kind of love nest.

He flushed at the thought and swallowed hard. _Now is definitely not the time to think like that,_ he scolded himself. There were two cots at opposite ends of the space and a lot of miscellaneous wooden cupboards and desks. Crutchie went over to the cot farthest from the window and put the lamp he’d been carrying onto the table beside it. Violet wouldn’t feel the draft as bad if she stayed further from the window. He spread the extra blankets across the cot and snickered when Violet dropped a pillow down with a dramatic _thump._

“I guess that’s you settled, den,” he fidgeted with the cuff of his shirt.

“It’s just fine, Crutchie. Don’t worry.”

“It ain’t much.”

“It’s perfect,” Violet sat down on the edge of the bunk. “Thank you.”

Crutchie smiled down at her. “S’nothin’. I’s actually used ta come here a bit, when I’s learnin’ how ta read and Davie was givin’ me extra lessons. An den I’s came up here ta read just ‘cause I’s liked it an— God, I’s ramblin’ somethin’ awful, ain’t I?”

“Not at all. I love to read.”

“Ya do?”

“Yeah,” Violet shifted over on the bed and made room for Crutchie.

He froze, unsure of what to do. “Do you’s want me ta…?”

“I just,” Violet took in a deep, shaky, breath and looked up at him. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Crutchie relaxed at her words. “Yeah, I’s understand. I’s wouldn’t want ta be either.”

Violet shifted onto her back and made so there was plenty of space for Crutchie to lie beside her. He leaned his crutch against the desk and kept a safe distance between himself and the girl. Their hands brushed accidentally and Violet jolted at the contact.

“S-sorry!” Crutchie pulled his hand back.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Violet tried to keep her breath steady. She moved her hand over a little so Crutchie could put his down.

“I’s don’t want ya feelin’ uncomfortable.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Charley. Are you okay with this?”

There it was, his name on her lips again and suddenly the world only consisted of Crutchie and Violet and he could hardly breath properly. He lowered his hand again, fingers mere millimetres away from hers, and nodded his head slowly.

“Yeah, I’s okay with dis.”

“Okay,” Violet exhaled slowly. “I hope your friend comes home safe.”

“He will,” Crutchie said matter-of-factly. “He’s like a cat. Got seven lives or somethin’.”

“I hope he doesn’t get in any kind of trouble. I know what some of those gambling halls can be like.”

“He’s not like that, ya know,” Crutchie glanced over at Violet. “Race, I mean. He’s a really good fella. One of me best friends, actually. He’d bend ovah backwards for anyone. He jus’…” Crutchie tried to find the right words. “He makes mistakes.” He paused. “But he ain’t bad. Not like my uncle or your ol’ man.”

“I understand,” said Violet gently.

“Shit— I mean, shoot— I’s didn’t mean ta mention your father. I’s sorry!”

Violet offered him a small smile. “It’s fine, Charley. I know what you mean.”

“Okay,” he felt his face heat up at the way his real name sounded coming from her. “You’ll like Race. He’s real funny an’ always jokin’ ‘bout somethin’ or other.”

“I could probably beat him at cards.”

“Really? Not dat I’s don’t doubt it, but Race is real good at poker. Almost cleaned Spot’s pockets out a few times.”

“Poker is one of the very few things my father taught me and it remains one of the only things he is good at.”

Crutchie frowned slightly at this. “Race’s ol’ man gambles too. Dat’s where Race get’s it from, I guess. He’s scared, though,” Crutchie shifted a bit when he felt Violet’s hand graze his own again. He wasn’t sure if it was an accident or not. “He’s scared he’s gonna turn into his ol’ man.”

“I don’t think he will.”

“I’s told ‘em dat too. I’s said he’s good man an’ his father ain’t got no good in ‘em at all.”

“You’re a good friend, Crutchie,” Violet turned her head and smiled at him.

Crutchie felt his face heat up even further. He was eternally thankful from the darkness of the attic.He’d never so much as held a girl’s hand before, let alone lie next to one and talk to one for longer than thirty seconds.

“T’anks,” Crutchie smiled back at her. “Cowboy, dat’s Jack’s nickname, he’s a real good guy too.”

“I can tell. You admire him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Crutchie said slowly, as if realizing the full gravity of him and Jack’s friendship. “We’s always there for each othah.”

“Like family.”

Crutchie’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, like family.” He watched Violet, looking at him all expectantly, as if wanting to hear more. “Ya know what’s real funny?”

“What?”

“Well, I’s dunno if it’s funny really, but Jack’s seein’ someone, ya know? An’ she’s real hoity toity an’ from a lot o’ money. It’s real funny watchin’ him get all dressed up ta take her out for a sandwich. She’s awful nice, though. Katherine Pulizer, ever hoid of her?”

“I’ve heard _of_ her, but I’ve never met her. I saw her at the deli today, though.”

“Right well, dat’s who Jack’s goin’ steady with.”

“Suppose opposites attract,” Violet’s voice got suddenly distant.

Crutchie caught onto the shift right away. “You’s okay?”

“Hmm?” She blinked. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

Violet tugged on the blanket and pulled it up to her chin. “Suppose I’ve never really understood it.”

“What?”

“Romance.”

“Oh,” Crutchie looked back up at the ceiling. “Yeah, supposed I’s never really got it eithah.”

“It just seems silly, you know? I’ve always been more focussed on work and trying to make a difference. I’ve never really had time for romance. And even if I did,” she debated whether or not to continue. She didn’t want to, but Crutchie’s kindly expression changed her mind. “Nobody’s ever looked twice at me, so I’ve never gotten the chance to consider it.”

Crutchie nodded into the darkness. Oh boy did he understand. He’d watched Jack walk out with Katherine knowing full well no girl would ever look at him the same way Katherine looked at Jack. It just shocked Crutchie that someone like Violet; somebody brave and so strong, wouldn’t have a line up of suiters a mile long. He felt Violet glanced over at him and realized he’d stayed silent for too long.

“I’s…” he faltered for a moment. “I’s understand. Really, I do. For what it’s worth, I’s t’ink any fella would be stupid not ta ask ya out.”

Violet giggled at this and Crutchie cracked a grin so wide he was sure it would split his face in two.

“I suppose my mother must have loved my father at some point,” she said. “What she saw in him, I have no idea, but they must have loved each other at least a little.”

“My folks loved each othah,” Crutchie shifted so he could take his small leather wallet out of his pocket. He took out a tiny, faded, photograph and held it out so Violet could see it. “Dat’s my father, his name was Tom, and dat’s my mama, Maggie.”

Violet took in the couple’s smiles and their warmth and tried to keep her emotions at bay. They looked so wonderful. So young. “They look happy,” she breathed.

“Yeah, they was poor as church mice, but they’s happy.”

“Your father…” Violet hesitated.She noticed Crutchie holding his breath and instantly regretted her curiosity. “You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Crutchie propped himself up on his elbow and smiled down at her. He shoved his wallet back in his pocket and continued. “I’s only remember a little ‘bout my ol’ man. He played the fiddle, I’s remember dat, an’ he used ta woik in da mines before he moved ta New York with my mama. My uncle always said it was the coal dust dat killed ‘em, got a cough one day an’ den a few weeks later he died. Tuberculosis, I think.”

Violet digested his words and shifted so they were face to face. “Do you have anything of his?”

“His fiddle,” said Crutchie. “An’ I’s ain’t evah pawnin’ that off, I’s don’t care how hungry I am.”

“I understand. Can you play it?”

“I’s tried,” Crutchie chuckled. “Ain’t very good m’afraid. I’s tried ta teach myself a few t’ings, but it all sounds like a cat flight in an ally. Maybe one day I’ll save up enough ta take some lessons.”

Violet smiled at this. “My mama,” she paused in reflection. “Sometimes I remember her.”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah,” Violet closed her eyes for a moment. “Sometimes, if I think really hard, I can remember her voice. She was a singer.”

“Really?” Crutchie leaned in towards her slightly, intrigued. Violet didn’t seem to mind at all.

“She’d landed a lead role and everything.”

“She musta been real good, then, huh?”

“I think so,” Violet paused. “Sometimes I swear I can remember her voice, practicing downstairs while I tried to sleep upstairs. She used to wear this green evening gown for performances. I remember that. And she’d sung a recital and performed in a few productions before it happened.”

“She got sick?”

“In a way,” Violet folded her hands in front of her and looked down at them. “Not many people see it that way, though.”

“What do ya mean?”

“I mean…” she felt an odd pull and hesitantly brushed her fingers against Crutchie’s. He slowly placed his hands over hers and gazed into her eyes. “She had an accident.”

“You’s don’t gotta tell me, if ya don’t wanna,” Crutchie assured her. Violet pressed on, though. After all, he’d told her about his family.

“She was always… fragile. Had a kind of melancholia about her, folks used to say. Some days she’d be happy and excited and singing and other days she’d hardly get out of bed. I don’t think she meant to do it,” Violet swallowed hard. “She took a whole lot of sleeping pills one night and then—well—she never woke up.”

“Jesus,” Crutchie squeezed her hands comfortingly. “Dunno if it would make ya feel any better, but I’s t’ink she was sick. Jus’ like me father got sick, only she had somethin’ wrong in her head.”

“Yeah, I think so too.”

Crutchie stroked her hands with his thumbs and marvelled at the fact that he could feel her relax under his touch.

“Do ya sing?”

“Suppose I can carry a tune,” Violet shrugged dismissively. “I haven’t really tried.”

Crutchie nodded in understanding. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his father’s fiddle half the time, let alone try and play it. Sometimes is was easier to keep the memories distant.

“I’s understand,” Crutchie watched her carefully.

“Her name was Maria Romano.” 

“Italian, huh?”

“Yeah, on both sides,” Violet flashed him a small smirk. “My father’s a first generation immigrant, my mama was a second.”

“I’s Jewish,” said Crutchie. “We’s used ta be Moritz, but my father changed it ta Morris when he came ta New York.”

Violet noticed him hesitate to continue. “I’m not like that,” she said firmly. “I know some people are terrible to Jews, and I think it’s just awful, but I would never _ever—“_

“T’anks,” Crutchie stopped her and looked into her eyes. He believed her.

They were silent for a beat, unsure of what to say or do. Crutchie felt an odd sense of comfort in holding Violet’s hands. It wasn’t that he was taking care of her (maybe he was a little) it was that they’d found each other. He felt a lot less alone.

“I can play the piano,” Violet broke the silence with a small smile.

“Where’d ya learn that?”

“This old fella’s got a piano shop off West 28th Street and he’s been letting me play there for years. I’ve basically taught myself. The old man, Mr. Tingly, he taught me how to read music a while ago, though.”

Crutchie watched her eyes shine with excitement. “You’s should take me there some time. Play somethin’ for me.”

“I’d like that,” Violet flushed slightly and stifled a yawn.

“You’s tired?” Crutchie pulled his hands back.

“A little.”

“I’s should go, then.”

“No! Do—“ Violet stopped herself. Even after having been raised in the slums of tenement housing, she knew how shameful her request was. Crutchie didn’t seem to mind or care about shame. All he cared about was Violet and her wide, conflicted eyes, that were momentarily filled with fear.

“I’s stayin’,” Crutchie relaxed back onto the cot and lay down again.

“For now?”

“For as long as ya need me ta.”

***

Crutchie counted himself lucky that his body clock often woke him up slightly before the morning bell. He was incredibly glad of it the next morning, when he jolted awake in bed, the sun streaming in through the attic window, and he realized he’d be able to make it to his cot without any of the boys knowing the wiser. He shifted over to look at Violet, who was waking up.

“Hey, Vi…” he shortened her name without realizing it. He put a careful hand on her shoulder and waited for her to fully absorb her surroundings. “I’s gotta get downstairs. Some o’ da boys’ll be gettin’ up real soon ta sell.”

Violet blinked a few time and nodded. “Time is it?”

“S’probably ‘round five-thirty or somethin’. Da mornin’ bell is always at six an’ I’s always wake up before then.”

“Shoot!” Violet sat upright so quickly, it made Crutchie jump in surprise. “I have to be at the factory at six!”

“No ya don’t,” Crutchie replied before thinking.

“Uh—yeah I do, Crutchie. I have to work or else nobody will pay the rent.”

“Don’t go back there.”

“I have to.”

“No ya don’t,” Crutchie said again, though with more force than before. “Why don’t ya come out an’ sell with me? We’s don’t got any goil newsies right now, but they’s got ‘em in Brooklyn an’ in Queens so I’s don’t see why you’s couldn’t be our foist?”

“Crutchie, I—“ Violet made to leave the cot, but he held his hand out.

“Can I’s spell it out for you?” Crutchie waited for her to nod before he continued. “You’s ain’t goin’ back ta him. An’ you’s ain’t woikin’ in no factory no more. You’s can stay here, with us, an’ woik with us or at least let us help ya find somethin’ bettah than a textile factory. An’ you’s can go ta as many rallies an’ protests as ya want. I’s bet you’s could even get some of da boys ta come with ya,” he paused and put a comforting hand on Violet’s shoulder. “I’s come with ya.”

“You’d do that?” Violet blinked up at him, her shock soon turning into immense relief and a flood of gratitude.

“Course.”

“Oh, Crutchie, I—I…” she blinked back tears and, without a single thought to decency, threw her arms around the boy. She buried her face into his shoulder and let the first tears of relief escape her when he returned her embrace with an intensity equal, if not greater, than her own.

“Shhh,” Crutchie rocked her slowly. “S’alrigh’…”

“I’m not upset, I’m…”

“I know,” he chuckled lightly. “I’s da same way when Jack foist took me in. Still am sometimes. S’weird havin’ people care ‘bout you’s.”

“You… _care?_ ” Violet pulled back slowly to look into his eyes.

“Course I do.”

God, she was millimetres away from him. He could see the flecks of green in her brown eyes and he leaned in even closer. Her breath hitched as she felt his breath fan across her face and just when she closed her eyes—

“Heya love boids!”Jack came charging up the stairs. The door to the attic flew open just as Crutchie, all flushed and flustered, pulled away from Violet.

“Oh, heya Jackie,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ya better get down there before da boys wake up. Y’know how they’s can be.”

“Right,” Crutchie flushed even further. His red ears matched the pink of Violet’s cheeks. “Race get back, okay?”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, Spot brought ‘em back. Still had money on ‘em though, so at least there’s that.”

“Dat’s somethin’.”

“Yeah,” Jack sighed again. “He’s gonna be real happy with me wakin’ ‘em up in a couple minutes.”

“I’s comin’ down,” Crutchie got up and reached for his crutch. “Violet’s gonna try sellin’ with me today. S’that okay?”

“If it’s fine by her den it’s fine by me. You’s might wanna do somethin’ bout what you’s wearin’ though. Ya see, most newsies are boys an’ you’s could probably sell more if you’s play da part of a young kid. You’s could pass for thirteen no sweat.”

Violet stared down at her working dress and then stood up to face Jack. “While that is entirely _too_ flattering,” Crutchie snickered at her sarcasm. "I’m not playing dress up.” She said this firmly, but without any harsh edges. She didn’t want Jack to think she wasn’t grateful. “If I’m going to sell newspapers, I’m going to do it as a woman. As I am. I don’t want to be someone I’m not, just to get more sales. Besides, I’m sure girls are just as good at selling news papers as boys are.”

Jack raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I’s couldn’t agree more.”

“You do?”

“Sure, why not?” Jack shrugged. “If dem Queens goil newsies wanna hide their hair in flat caps, let ‘em. But if you’s don’t wanna, I’s don’t see why you’s gotta. Besides, if we’s gonna have our foist goil newsie, we’s should let her do it on her own terms.”

Violet’s eyes widened. She had expected Jack to put up more of a fight. “Thanks you…” she hesitated. “For understanding.”

“S’nothin’,” Jack flashed the pair a knowing smirk. “Seriously, Crutch, you’s better get down there or else you’s gonna get an ear full.”

“Right, right!” Crutchie scurried around the bed and made his way down the stairs behind Jack. Half-way down the stairs he turned to look up at Violet. “Meet me downstairs by the desk in a couple minutes?”

“Okay,” Violet shifted her weight awkwardly. She looked around the attic, tentatively at first, before making her way to each corner. She felt herself smiling when she reached a small dresser that had a collection of tattered books on it. She opened The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and traced her fingers along where the name _Crutchie_ had been scrawled in black ink on the inside cover. She noticed a few lines had been underlined, a few words circles here or there, and even a few notes were written in the margins. It had been a few months since Violet had seen the inside of a classroom, but she knew well enough to know that had Crutchie been able to go school, he would have been an excellent student.

She jolted out of her trance upon realization that she had agreed to meet Crutchie downstairs. She had no idea how long she’d been looking at the books for or for how long the silly smile had been plastered on her face.

She rushed down the stairs, only to practically run into a newsie.

“Heya, doll, you’s bes’ watch where you’s goin’,” he chuckled lightly. “We’s runnin’ all ovah the place down ‘ere.”

Violet cleared her throat and collected herself. “I told Crutchie I’d meet him.”

“ _Oh_ ,” the boy raised a knowing eyebrow. “You’s da goil he ate da French fries with.”

“Yeah,” Violet tried to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m Violet.”

“Well, how do ya do, Violet? I’s Racetrack,” the boy spat into his hand and extended it.

Violet didn’t grimace like Race thought she would. She’d seen enough boys on the streets do the kind of handshake, she supposed it was a sense of familiarity; a sense of camaraderie of sorts.

Much to Racetracks’ shock, Violet spit into her own hand and shook his. _Well, if I’m going to sell newspapers, I may as well join in the fun._

“Pleasure to meet you, Racetrack,” Violet said firmly.

Race, in turn, grinned at her and took his hand back. “You’s ain’t half bad,” he snickered.

“What a compliment.”

“Hey, I’s care ‘bout Crutchie. Don’t wanna see ‘em get hoit,” there was an odd sense of sincerity in Racetrack’s eyes. He liked what he saw in Violet, he just wasn’t sure about her. Crutchie was different from the other boys. He was softer, more fragile, and it wasn’t because of his leg. He just cared far more. While the other boys had gotten callus (though not nearly as unfeeling or as cold as the boys from Brooklyn) Crutchie seemed to keep his sensitivity. And Racetrack didn’t want that changing.

Violet nodded slowly, weary under the boys gaze. “I know. I promise you, Racetrack, I won’t do anything to hurt him. Besides, we’re just…friends.”

“Does Crutchie know that?”

“What?”

“That you’s think you’s jus’ friends. Seems like somethin’ you’s ought ta tell ‘em.”

“I want—I mean—“ Violet stumbled over her words. There was no use in lying. The boy played poker. He’d be able to see right through her lies. “I don’t want us to just be friends.”

Racetrack fiddled with the cigar between his fingers and chuckled again. “Well, judgin’ by the way he looks at you’s, I’s thinkin’ he don’t jus’ wanna be friends either. I’s jus’ mentioned ya a couple minutes ago an’ he dropped da soap an’ turned about nine different shades o’ red.”

Violet flushed at this and wrung her hands nervously. “He cares about you too, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“He was worried about you last night,” Violet knew it wasn’t her place, but she felt a sense of duty.

“Nothin’ ta worry ‘bout,” Racetrack brushed off her concern.

Violet frowned. “Really? Because not coming home and keeping your friends up every other night is, to me, a little bit worrying.” She paused there and watched his expression turn from care-free into emotionless. “Sorry,” she added quickly. “That really wasn’t my place.”

“Dunno ‘bout that,” Race shrugged. “You’s one of us now.”

“I’m still sorry. I over-stepped.”

“Nah, it’s nothin’. I’s jus’ wish da fellas wouldn’t get so worried. They shouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Huh?” Race raised an eyebrow.

Violet took in a deep breath. “What I mean is, wouldn’t you be worried if your brother didn’t come home all the time and spent all night gambling? Would you be worried for him?”

Race was taken aback. Of course he’d be worried. He didn’t like how Mush got involved with ladies that always ended up breaking his heart. He worried that Spot would fight the wrong person one day and really get hurt. He worried about Jack taking on too much and trying to work too hard. It never occurred to him that his brothers worried about him too.

“Yeah,” Race’s voice trailed off, deep in thought. “I’s get what you’s tryin’ ta say.”

“Why don’t you play here if you’ve got the itch? Play for buttons or marbles.”

“We’s play poker here plenty, s’jus’ I’s beat ‘em all so much, it kinda ain’t fare no more,” the ghost of a smirk played on the newsie’s face.

“Well,” Violet puffed out her chest. “You haven’t played me yet.”

“An’ you’s real good then, huh?”

“My mother was a Romano and my father’s a Rossi. I know how to play poker.”

Racetrack grinned. “You’s on, Violet.”

“Romano,” Violet added confidently. “I took my mother’s last name.”

“Well den, I’s see ya tonight Violet Romano.”

Crutchie poked his head out from the washing room and smiled shyly. “You’s wanna wash up? S’nothin’ fancy, but…”

Violet sighed in relief. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Crutchie blushed deep red when she swished by him and Race put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Hold on ta her, Crutch,” he looked up at his friend. “She’s a keeper.”

“Yeah I’s—uh—“

But Racetrack had already left, bounding down the hall for the circulation desk.

Crutchie couldn’t help but stare at Violet as she washed her face and neck in the basin. She opened the first few buttons of her dress and sighed. The tiniest of water droplets dripped down her neck and into the collar of her dress. Crutchie swallowed thickly. This was not the time to be thinking of Violet in that way. He disgusted himself. _Rotting apples_ , he thought desperately, _garbage cans in July. The bunk room after a brawl. Canned beans, Jack’s smelly feet, and Klopmann trying to sing Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay._

“Crutchie?” Violet wiped her face off with a slightly discoloured towel and faced him.

“Hmm? Yeah? Oh—yeah—h-hi. Hello,” Cructhie shook himself and looked over her shoulder. Violet smelled like soap and her smile, radiant and excited, wasn’t helping his situation one bit.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, f-fine. Poifect. Ya wanna head out, den?”

“Crutchie?”

“Yeah?” He still refused to make eye contact.

Violet frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay? I don’t have to join you, you know. I can see if the factory will take me back.”

“No!” Crutchie cried, braving a short glance at her face. God, she was confused and upset and he was acting like a raging adolescent. And he had the audacity to laugh at Mush, who seemingly reacted to any girl who so much as looked his way.

“What’s the matter?”

“Well… ya see…it’s— _shit_ —“ Crutchie looked down at the faded hardwood. He wanted to check if something else down there was getting too excited, but he didn’t dare. “I’s sorry,” he mumbled. “I’s didn’t mean ta cuss. I’s jus’—uh—distracted, ya see.”

“Distracted,” Violet repeated the word evenly.

“Yeah, I’s—uh—reactin’ to you’s washin’ an’ I’s know it ain’t right an’ I’s shouldn’t be thinkin’ of ya in dat way or reactin’ to you’s. I’s sorry,” he managed to look up at her. “I’s real, real, sorry.”

Violet felt her face and the tips of her ears heat up. Crutchie (charming, kind, tender Crutchie) found her attractive? While the women’s rights activist in her wanted to scold him for thinking such thoughts, she couldn’t help but feel slight rush of pride. She’d never felt desired before. She’d never had anyone _react_ to her before. It wasn’t, as it turned out, a completely awful feeling. In fact, if consensual and innocent enough, she found she liked it. And she knew, deep down, that Crutchie would never act on his reaction without her permission. She’d made note of how shy and careful he’d been lying in the bed next to her the night before.

“Don’t be sorry,” she found herself saying quietly. “I…well… I’m flattered.”

“I’s disgustin’.”

“No, no,” Violet rushed forward a few steps, only to back off one. Proximity probably wasn’t a great idea. “It’s okay, Crutchie. I’ve…” she paused, trying to find the right words. “I’ve never been considered attractive before.”

Crutchie’s eyes widened. “What?” He spun her around so they were both facing the grimy mirror. “You’s don’t t’ink you’s pretty?”

“Well… I don’t know…”

“C’mon,” he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled at their reflection. “Look at dis hair,” he tugged on a fiery red curl playfully. “S’gorgeous. An’ dese freckles an’ dat smile,” he watched her flush and his smile broadened. “S’enough ta make any fella go mental.”

“Oh, Crutchie,” Violet shook her head, partially in amusement and partially in disbelief. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Well you’s turned me into a fumblin’ idiot so yeah, I’s do mean every woid I’s said.”

“Well,” Violet turned to face him, their breath mingling due to their proximity. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re wickedly charming and handsome.”

Crutchie’s breath caught in his throat. “Dat’s—uh—real nice o’ you ta say.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Okay,” Crutchie breathed and felt Violet’s face inch closer to his own. God, they were so close, but then he remembered where they were. And if Jack caught them, or heaven help him, Race; they’d never hear the end of it. “We’s—uh—better get out dere before they’s all outta papes.”

Violet jolted back, not realizing how close they’d gotten. “Right,” she smoothed the overskirt of her dress. “Lead the way.”

It didn’t surprise Crutchie, that Violet was a natural at selling papes. In fact, he figured she could give Jack a run for his money. Her bright, loud, voice carried through the streets like the brass choirs that played Christmas carols in December.

Crutchie had read about it in the paper a few times. It was called _Tin Pan Alley._ A special area of New York that had recently become home to a slew of publishing houses and song-writers. So much so that when you stood in the middle of the street, you could hear music coming out of every window and every store. It had only just taken off (the phrase _Tin Pan Alley_ was still quite new) so the streets weren’t that busy.

Violet stood, hands switching at her sides with excitement.

“Isn’t is marvellous?” She took in the moment.

“Yeah,” Crutchie spun around a few times, as if trying to figure out which song was coming from which building. “Dis is somethin’ else.”

“Have you never been here before?”

“Never. We’s ain’t supposed ta go too far outside our burrows, ya see. There’s some turf rules an’ Spot told us to lay low.”

“Oh,” Violet nodded and kept walking. “That’s where I go to practice sometimes,” she pointed at a piano store.

Crutchie saw her excitement and started towards the front door of the store. “Well,” he opened his arms in a welcoming fashion. “Why don’t you’s play somethin’ for me?”

“What, now?”

“Sure! If dat fella don’t mind.”

“Mr. Tingly? He lets me come in and play all the time.”

“Well den it ain’t a problem. You’s should play something. Dat is,” he watched her expression carefully. “If you’s wanna.”

Violet nodded her head as she followed Crutchie into the store. A quiet bell rang when they entered, but nobody came to greet them.

“He’s probably eatin’ his lunch,” Violet giggled. “He falls asleep half the time and I have to wake him up.”

“Jeez, he oughta be payin’ ya for lookin’ afta da place,” Crutchie grinned.

Violet shushed him playfully and sat down at a simple brown, wooden, upright piano.

“I never feel comfortable playing the more expensive ones,” she explained, ghosting over the keys. “Some of those can cost a couple thousand dollars.”

“Holy sh— I mean,” Crutchie collected himself. “Dat’s mental!”

Violet couldn’t help but giggle at his flustered behaviour. Then, in a moment of confidence, she played the piano. Quite suddenly, Crutchie’s world became rhythm and colours and Violet’s hair flying around her as she played. Nothing else mattered other than the music she was creating. He’s heard music like it before, sometimes coming out of gin joints or Medda’s theatre, but he’d never seen in played before. Violet’s hands seemed to work independently of each other, both bouncing around the piano keys like some kind of dance. Crutchie smiled from ear to ear as she played and hardly noticed when she stopped.

“You okay?” Violet spun around on the bench to face him.

Crutchie shook himself. “Yeah…yeah, I’s okay. You’s—uh—whoah—you’s real good.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m what a trained musician would call a hack.”

“You’s ain’t no hack. What makes ya think you’s no good?”

“You mean, besides the fact that I’ve never taken a lesson?” Violet raised an eyebrow as she played a random melody in her right hand.

“I’s don’t t’ink Marks n’ Stern evah had no fancy lessons.”

“Yes, but they’re _publishers_ , Crutchie, not _musicians_.”

“They’s wrote dat one song—forget what it’s called now— ‘bout dat lost goil,” Crutchie tried to remember. “Miss Medda sings it a lot an’ it’s real nice. Folks love it!”

Violet tried to appreciate Crutchie’s optimism. Usually she was confident and sure of her ideas. In the back of her mind she knew her songs were different. They were personal and she cared about them on a level that surpassed even her passion for equality.

“I’ll have more time to practice now, what with not going to factory anymore,” she offered Crutchie a small, grateful, smile.

“There’s dat silvah linin’,” his eyes twinkled and Violet played another short melody nervously. “What was dat song you’s played? I’s hoid it before, I think.”

“That’s because you can hear it coming out of any place that’ll play ragtime music.”

“Ragtime,” Crutchie repeated the word slowly. “Yeah, I’s hoid o’ that. Ain’t that, like, dancin’ music?”

“Basically,” Violet put both her hands back on the piano to demonstrate. “It’s when the left hand keeps a steady, march-like rhythm, while the right hand, I don’t know…” she played a complicated rhythm. “Mr. Tingly calls it syncopation. S’when the rhythms get… mixed up, but in a good way.”

“Kinda makes ya wanna have a good time, don’t it?”

“It sure does,” Violet smiled and dropped her hands into her lap again. “That was the Maple Leaf rag. A fella named Scott Joplin wrote it last year and it’s sold over seventy thousand copies already!”

“ _Seventy thousand?_ ” Crutchie gaped. “Dat’s a whole lot o’ music.”

“Sure is.”

“Do you’s write music?”

“I try,” Violet faced the piano again. “Wanna hear something?”

Crutchie grinned. “Tickle ‘em ivories.”

Violet ghosted her hands over the keys for a moment, thinking through the song first before she started playing. It started slow, but then got fast, and then slow again, making Crutchie both laugh and sway to the beat. He loved it.

Neither of them noticed an unassuming young man walk into the shop, only to stop and listen to Violet. Crutchie tipped his hat to him and he smiled back. Crutchie made to speak, but the man put a finger over his lips, clearly more interested in listening to Violet play than introducing himself.

Violet finished playing with a flourish and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw two young men watching her instead of one.

“Jesu—I mean, hello. Who are—what—“ Violet tried to find the right words but nothing came out. Instead of replying right away, the young man simply clapped, slow and loudly so it bounced around the space like Violet’s playing had.

“Ya play real well, kid,” he said when he finally stopped clapping. “Real well.”

Violet blushed under the heavy compliment. “I, well, thank you.”

“Never heard the tune before. Who wrote it?”

“She did,” Crutchie grinned as Violet shushed him.

The young man raised his eyebrows. “You did?”

“It’s not done yet,” Violet said quickly. “I’m still working on it and trying to write it down.”

“Let me know when you finish it. I’m workin’ for a couple fellas down the block, so I could try an’ put in a good world for ya.”

“Well—I—“

“She’d love that,” Crutchie answered for her without thinking. He didn’t mean to talk over her, he just wanted every joy and success for her.

Violet found herself smiling at the newsies’ eagerness. “I would love that.”

“Your tune got any lyrics?”

“I hadn’t considered that,” Violet watched the man’s expression for any signs of disappointment, but she only saw intrigue.

“You might wanna consider it. S’a good tune. Would sound real good with a singer.”

“I don’t sing.”

“You don’t have to. Someone else would sing it for you, while you get a share of the money. S’called being a song writer, kid,” the man paused and chuckled at Violet and Crutchie’s wide eyes. “Right, well,” he reached into his modest wool coat pocket and retrieved a small card. “You can find me here.” Violet took the card and nodded her thanks.

“Thank you, Mr…”

“Call me Izzy,” the young man said casually. “S’not the name my folks gave me, but it works for me. S’ a far cry from Israel, that’s for sure. So,” he chewed on a piece of chewing gum. “What do you do for a livin’ then?”

“Well, I…” Violet’s voice trailed off again, but Crutchie’s encouraging smile helped her continue. “I sell newspapers with Charley, here.”

“Newsies?’ Izzy’s eyes lit up. “I used to be one of you not too long ago. Used to sell right along here, in fact. Heard all the music comin’ outta these joints an’ started makin’ up my own tunes from there.”

“Who did you take lesson from?” Violet asked.

Izzy laughed out loud. “You kiddin’ me, right? Jewish immigrant like me, family poor as pigs, yeah, I had all kinds o’ money for lessons,” he sat down at one of the other pianos and played a melody. “Nah, I taught myself, kid.”

“You did?”

“Sure,” he kept playing. “Ain’t nobody taught me nothin’. I was Israel Beilin back then, an’ I just sat down one day and said, Ma, Pop, I’m gonna write music. They didn’t love the idea too much, let me tell you that. But hey, I got myself a new suit, so look who’s laughin’ now.”

Crutchie stared at Izzy, eyes filled with admiration and intrigue. It wasn’t often he saw a true success story. Most newsies aged out of the lodging out to work on the docks or in factories. It wasn’t like it was a horrible living. It was work. It just wasn’t the dream. Izzy, it seemed, was living the American dream.

“You sure are somethin’ Mr,” Crutchie said slowly.

Izzy snickered at this and got up from the piano. “I better be goin’,” he glanced back at Violet. “Come find me when you’re doin’ writing’ your tune.”

Violet nodded quickly and watched him leave. She stared down at the card in disbelief.

“What’s it say?” Crutchie moved to look over her shoulder.

“Mr. Irving Berlin…”

They walked back out onto the streets after that, both slightly taken aback and overwhelmed by the entire experience.

A sudden realization dawned on Crutchie as they walked.

“You’s can stay at da lodgin’ house as long as ya need, by the way,” he could feel his hand getting sweaty against his crutch. “Last night… it’s wasn’t a one time thing. You’s can stay tonight an’ tomorrow an’…” his voice trailed off with a fierce blush.

Violet’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Thank you,” she reached for his arm and gave a light squeeze. Her hand stayed there for a fraction of a second. Crutchie stopped walking to look down at her hand and smile nervously.

“You’s wanna…?” He held out his arm, fully offering her to take it.

Violet hesitated. “Well, I—if it’s alright with you?”

“I’s offerin’, ain’t I?”

“That is true,” Violet flashed him a grin despite her nerves. Was this what it was like to walk out with a boy? Crutchie waited for her to wrap her arm around his before he started walking again. He couldn’t help but noticed (along with the tingling sensation sweeping through this body) the fact that holding someone else put the pressure off his bad leg. He could walk without a his usual hobble. Violet smiled up at him and for a moment he allowed himself to think that together, they made one whole person.

“So…” he smiled back at her. “You’s still goin’ ta that rally?”

“Of course,” said Violet.

“You’s want me ta go with ya? I’d like ta.”

“You would?”

“I’s told ya I’d go with ya. Besides, s’important.”

“It is,” Violet agreed firmly. “You know, you’re one of the first men I’ve ever met that sees it that way. I know a few men who support the cause, but only in so far as it would benefit their social circle.”

“Well, I ain’t lookin’ ta host some kinda fundraisin’ event jus’ for da show of it,” Crutchie caught on quickly. “I’s mean it.”

“I know, and I thank you for that.”

“An’ I’s gonna try an’ understand what you’s talkin’ ‘bout, ya know, with equality an’ all, ‘cause I’s don’t know da foist t’ing ‘bout what you’s goin’ through.”

Violet’s eyes widened at his words. It was one thing to have a man support her, but another to have a man want to be educated.

“You sure are something, Charley,” she rested her head against his shoulder for a moment. “I’m real glad I met you.”

Crutchie smiled from ear to ear, his face practically splitting in two. “Yeah, I’s real glad too.”

They walked for a few more blocks until they reached a gathering of women. There were fifty, maybe sixty of them, all standing with signs or banners. Violet fumbled around, searching for something in the side pocket of her overskirt, before retrieving a small banner.

Proudly, she lifted it up, all the while still linking arms with Crutchie.

“I always have it with me.”

“Equality for all,” Crutchie read out loud. “I’s like it.”

“I usually have signs, but they’re all at home.”

Crutchie frowned at first. He didn’t like her mentioning the word _home,_ but then he grinned in realization. “We’s can make ya more. We’s probably get some paint an’ wood leftovah from da strike!”

“Really?” Violet looked up at him excitedly. “Oh, I’d love that!”

Crutchie was about to say that the boys would lend a helping hand too, but a tall, curly-haired woman came bounding towards them.

“Violet!” She cried. “Oh, I am _so_ glad you’re here! Some of the girls had been wondering where you’d got off to what with you not clocking in today.”

“I’m actually not working at the factory anymore,” Violet said cautiously.

“You’re not?”

“No. I—well— I got a position somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?” The woman seemed perplexed.

Violet felt Crutchie give her arm a light squeeze and relaxed. “I’ve decided to sell newspapers.”

“You have?” The woman looked at Crutchie and then at Violet again. “That sounds so liberating!”

“It is,” Violet beamed. “Oh, Crutchie, this is Evie. Evie,” Violet looked up at her escort. “This is Crutchie.”

“How do ya do?” Crutchie tried to extend his hand to her while still keeping his crutch under his arm.

“I’m wonderful!” Evie shook his hand vigorously. “Did you drop Violet off with us or…?”

“I’s stayin’,” Crutchie said proudly. “Try an’ do my bit.”

“Whoah, Violet. Hold on to this beau.”

“Oh, Crutchie isn’t—I mean—“

“We’s friends,” Crutchie finished for her. Her tried not to deflate at Violet’s hesitation. After all, they’d only just met. He couldn’t honestly expect her to be interested in him romantically.

Evie didn’t seem convinced. She shrugged and chuckled before gripping her sign again. “Well, we’re all at the front, if you want to join us, Violet. I’m sure some of the other girls would like to see you… and your friend.”

Violet blushed all too profusely for her liking. “If you don’t mind…?” She looked up at Crutchie.

He shrugged and smiled. “S’fine with me.”

“Oh, _fantastic!_ ” Evie bounced back into the crowed and pushed her way to the front again. Violet and Crutchie followed her, though a few steps back. Violet was keenly aware of Crutchie’s handicap and she didn’t want him getting jostled unnecessarily. She kept casting worried glances his way as the speaker came forward onto the podium.

“Equal right for all!” The woman cried. “The right to vote! The right to work! The right to make a living wage!”

A roar of approval from the crowed. Violet looked she was about ready to take flight from excitement.

“This factory,” the woman gestured behind her. “Has been subject to countless accounts of unwarranted and unwelcome sexual advanced. Foremen, men in authority, using their power and political standing, to harass and abuse women. But our voices will not be silent any longer!”

Another cheer of approval.

“We demand justice! We demand rights! Equal rights for all!” She cried.

“Equal right for all!” Violet lifted her banner and shouted the words.

And then it happened faster than Crutchie could process. A whistle of alarm, some of the woman forming a line while others fell in behind. Then more whistles and uniformed men coming towards them.

“Jesus!” Crutchie grabbed Violet’s hand. “S’da bulls! You’s gotta get outta here!”

“No!” Violet stood her ground. “This will all be for nothing if we don’t fight it!”

“C’mon, Violet! You’s could get locked up for dis!”

“They won’t imprison us for wanting rights!”

Crutchie tried to pull at her arm. “Yes they _can!”_ Flashes of the refuge came back to him. A place that was dead and closed, but still forever etched in his mind. He couldn’t let Violet get put in a place like that. “We’s gotta move!” He cried. “C’mon!”

“I will not leave without putting up a fight, Crutchie!” Violet shrugged out if his grasped and hurled herself forward into the mass of women fighting against the police. Some of the women were being detained, some being held down by force and before Crutchie could register what had happened, one of the officers clubbed Violet across her chest and then over the head. She fell like a limp noodle.

“Violet!” Crutchie scrambled forward and tried to situate himself so no one could hurt her anymore. Luckily the fighting was beginning to move away from them and the officer had moved on. “Oh God, Violet. What were ya thinkin’, huh?” He brushed the hair out of her face and examined her head. No blood. A weak pulse. He knew enough about injuries to know it was a concussion. He had to get her back to the lodging house.

“You’s hang in there, okay Violet?” Crutchie stroked her face with the back of his hand. He was shaking horribly, scared out of his mind, because in that moment the fact that he wasn’t like other boys— that he didn’t have the ability to pick her up and take her to safety— became horrifyingly obvious. Jack had raised him the boys to rise above their weaknesses and to celebrate what made them different. For so long, Crutchie, despite his name, had lived life beyond his disability. He hadn’t let it stop him from fighting or running or going on adventures. But in that moment, with Violet’s limp body lying propped up against his chest, he felt useless.

“Crutchie!” Evie came running towards him. “Crutchie, what happened?”

“She—uh—“ he swiped at his face quickly. God, when had he started crying? “She got hit. I’s—I’s t’ink it’s a concussion.”

“Oh Lord,” Evie felt for a pulse. “She’s still breathin’.”

“We’s need ta get her back to da lodgin’ house. Klopmann an’ Jack’ll know what ta do.”

“Lodging house?”

“Newsboys lodgin’ house,” Crutchie eyes darted around nervously as a few officers ran past them.

“Manhatten?”  
“Yeah.”

“I think I know where that is.”

“Can you…” Crutchie tried to stand while keeping Violet propped up.

Evie caught on quickly. “Of course. Don’t you worry ‘bout it,” the girl took Violet’s legs while Crutchie cradled her in his arm.

Somehow, through willpower and determination, the two were able to carry Violet back to the lodging house.

Blink was out front, smoking a cigarette, when he spotted them.

“Jesus!” He coughed. “The hell happened?”

“We was at da rally,” Crutchie panted. “Violet got hit when da bulls showed.”

“We need to get her inside,” Evie tried to make her way up the front steps.

“Whoah, easy there,” Blink dropped his cigarette. “I’s got ‘er.” Carefully, the boy took Violet’s limp body and carried her inside.

“Thank you!” Evie rushed in behind him. “She’s always there, you know. Front and centre, always ready for the cause!”

“I’s bet,” Blink shooed some of the littles away who were crowding them.

“Are you newsboy too?”

“Sure am.”

“Suppose you get into all kinds of scuffles, then?”

Despite the effort it took to carry Violet up the stairs to the bunk rooms, Blink chuckled at Evie’s words. “Sure,” he lay Violet down on a cleared cot. “I’s get inta the odd brawl.”

“So you’d know what to do, then? Crutchie said she has a concussion. I don’t know what to do about a concussion. My sister’s training to be a nurse, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore so I haven’t learned anything from her. Do you think you can help her?” Evie took a deep breath. She knew she was rambling. It was a thing she did when she was scared. “Violet, I mean. Can you help her?”

Crutchie remained silent and practically unmoving as Blink inspected Violet’s head.

“No blood n’ no bump yet,” he murmured. “So dat’s good.”

“Okay,” Evie inched closer to the cot.

“Can I…?” Blink’s hands hovered over her rib cage.

“No!” Crutchie snapped out of his fear induced trance. He forced himself to calm down when he realized he had shouted. “Let me,” he lowered his voice and hobbled over to Violet’s side.

Blink took a step back and motioned for Evie to join him.

Slowly, Crutchie placed his hands on Violet’s ribcage. God, he hated that he was doing this without her permission. He hated that he was touching her for the first time under such awful circumstances. And, as his fingers skimmed over her body, he hated that her could feel every rib. Crutchie was no stranger to hunger (half the boys in the lodging house were skin and bones come winter, despite Jack and the older boys’ best efforts) but he still hated when it was so painfully obvious. Violet was strong, incredibly so, but she was also the child of neglect.

“God, Vi…” his voice trailed off when his fingers found an anomaly. A rib had recently been broken, or at the very least fractured, but he could tell it wasn’t fresh. It hadn’t happened mere hours ago. Besides, he’d seen her get hit, and the rib he was feeling wasn’t close to where the officer had hit her.

“Is she alright?” Evie whispered.

“I’s t’tink so, yeah,” Crutchie breathed. “Once she wakes up, we’s gotta make sure she don’t fall back asleep for a while. Nothin’ broke today.”

“Thank God,” Evie sighed and wiped her brow.

“Evie?”

“Yeah?”

Crutchie hesitated, his hands now grasping one of Violet’s limp ones. “How well do ya know Violet?”

“Well enough,” Evie frowned. “Why?”

“I’s t’ink she busted up one of her ribs,” Crutchie knew his voice was shaking. He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. “T’ing is… I’s don’t t’ink it happened at da rally.”

Evie processed his words for a moment, blinking slowly. “I know her Papa can be a real bastard,” she spat out the cuss like it would physically hard Violet’s father. “But the foreman at our factory takes a cain to us sometimes.”

Blink’s head whipped around to face Evie. “Dat evah happen to you’s?” He murmured the question, knowing full well he was overstepping. “Sorry if dat’s…too poisonal.”

“No,” Evie answered simply. She tucked a curl behind her ear nervously. “I mean, it’s not too personal. But yes… it has happened to me. It’s normal for factory girls to meet the harsh end of a stick. It’s supposed to make us work harder, you know?”

“Shit,” Blink watched Evie’s expression harden.

“Just made me want to fight harder, actually. Every time one of them bastards lets me have it, I scream that much louder at the rallies.”

Blink nodded. He watched Crutchie stroke Violet’s hand as he murmured soothing words in her ear. “Say…” he turned to face Evie again. “You’s wanna go for a soda or somethin’? Leave these two for a bit?”

Evie cocked an eyebrow. “Well aren’t you bold.”

“I’s try.”

“Will Violet be okay?”

“She’d in da best hands you’s can be in,” said Blink. Slowly, the pair made their way out of the room just as a familiar couple burst in. Sighing, Crutchie bowed his head.

“Who is it this time?” He hadn’t mean to snap. He was just worried and anxious and wanted to be alone with Violet.

“S’jus’ me, kid,” Jack’s voice was calm and soothing. Crutchie felt himself relax. “Kath’s here too.”

Katherine inched into the room behind Jack. “What happened?”

“We was at da women’s rights rally— dat one by da factory— an’ da bulls showed up. I’s tried ta get her away, but she wanted ta fight. Dis officer clobbered her ovah da head an’…” Crutchie couldn’t continue. He pressed a kiss against the top of Violet’s hand and pinched his eyes shut.

“Oh Jesus, Crutch,” Jack dropped down to his side and swung an arm around her shoulder.

“You’s weren’t there, Jack,” he sniffed. “I’s couldn’t do anythin’. She fell an’ I’s couldn’t help he. Ain’t da fella supposed ta help a goil? Ain’t—“

“Shhh,” Jack stopped Crutchie’s words with a soft shush. He rubbed soothing circles around his back. “Don’t go talkin’ like dat, kid.”

“But it’s true.”

“It ain’t,” Jack’s voice remained calm and firm. “Listen, you’s brought her here safe last night an’ you’s here with her now. Dat’s what matters. Don’t matter how you got her here. What matters is dat you’s here now.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Crutchie,” Katherine added softly. “I would have needed help too.”

Crutchie tried not to frown. Deep down, he knew their words were right.

“T’anks,” he managed weakly.

“So you were there?” Katherine sat down on a near-by cot.

“Yeah.”

“And Violet was protesting?”

“Yeah,” Crutchie wiped his nose on his sleeve. “She had a banner an’ everythin’.”

Katherine shifted nervously. “Do you think Violet would mind speaking to me?”

“You mean…?”

“For an article,” Katherine finished. “I’d love to cover the women’s rights movement.”

“I’s sure she’d love dat,” Crutchie didn’t take his eyes off Violet. Her chest was slowly rising and falling with each breath. He felt like if he looked away, she’d stop breathing.

Katherine seemed to sense Crutchie’s need for space better than Jack. She linked her arm around Jack’s elbow and tugged him away from his friend lightly.

“We should go, Jack.”

“Huh?” He looked up perplexed. Didn’t Crutchie need him?

“I think Crutchie would like some time alone with Violet.”

“Oh jeez,” Jack got up quickly. Crutchie hardly seemed to notice. “Hey pal?” He placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’s tell me when she’s up, okay? I’s downstairs with da fellas. I’s keep ‘em amused.”

Crutchie glanced up at him quickly. “T’anks Jack.” His voice was soft and sincere. “An’ t’anks Katherine. I’s tell Violet you’s dropped by.”

“Thank you,” Katherine nodded her thanks and lead Jack back out of the room.

There was very little for Crutchie to do, but sit and wait. He whispered soft words of comfort to Violet in hopes that she actually heard him.

“So I’s t’ink you’s really somethin’ ya know dat? You’s playin’ dat piano and how ya make it look so easy…” he stroked her hand with his thumb. “An’ how you’s believe in somethin’ an you’s don’t let anythin’ get in ya way. I’s jus’ wish—“ Crutchie’s voice broke slightly as he tried to hold the tears back. “I’s jus’ wish I’s coulda helped ya. But dis damn t’ing—“ he kicked his crutch half heartedly with his foot. “You’s desoive bettah den a gimp.” Crutchie bowed his head and took in a quivering breath. “Jus’ get bettah for me, yeah? I’s jus’ need ya ta get bettah.”

He continued murmuring soft stories about his adventures with Jack, Blink’s many misadventures with girls, and a poker night in Brooklyn where Racetrack had beat Spot Conlon out of five dollars. Crutchie almost snickered at the memory of Spot, so angry that he had actually left his bunk room to punch a wall, but a soft cough from Violet prompted him to stop talking and stare at her face. Her eyes flickered open.

“You’s—you’s okay…” Crutchie breathed such a sigh of relief, it almost came out as a sob. “Jesus, you’s actually okay!”

Violet blinked up at him, slowly getting her bearings. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Crutchie couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Violet closed her eyes for a moment. “Are you okay? Did you fall or hurt yourself? The fighting—I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“ _You’s_ da one dat got hit, Vi,” he shortened her name without realizing it. Violet smiled at this.

“Oh,” she felt her head with the hand Crutchie wasn’t holding. “I feel okay. Just… tired.”

“I’s t’ink you’s got a concussion. An you’s got a fractured ri—“ Crutchie stopped short.

“What?” Violet tried to sit up, but Crutchie place a hand on her shoulder.

“I’s had ta check ya ribs,” he flushed and swallowed hard. “I’s sorry dat I’s had ta do it, but I’s had ta make sure you wasn’t hurt real bad.”

Violet nodded slowly. “It’s okay, Crutchie. I understand.”

“You’s should rest for a while. Let dat rib heal proper.”

“It’s nothing,” Violet tried to argue. “I’ve been working and doing just fine.”

“Please?” Crutchie squeezed her hand. “Jus’ for a couple days,” Violet opened her mouth to argue, but Crutchie continued. “Okay, jus’ for da rest o’ tonight an’ tomorrow mornin’ at least.”

“I feel fine.”

“You was out cold for two hours.”

“A light nap.”

“You’s gotta be kiddin’ me right now,” Crutchie tried to remain stern, but Violet’s little smirk made him chuckle.

“C’mon, Crutchie, I feel fine. Just a headache and a little tired.”

“You’s stayin’ here till tomorrow afternoon, okay? Den maybe… _maybe_ you’s can sell da afternoon edition wit me.”

Violet huffed. “Fine.”

“You’s bossy when you’s get hit ovah da head, huh?” Crutchie watched her try to suppress a giggle and smiled.

“I’m bossy all the time. Women don’t get ahead by nodding their heads and playing house, you know.”

“Yeah…” Crutchie watched her carefully, her expression all determined and passionate. For two long hours, he’d thought he’d never get to see that expression again.

“Crutchie?” Violet saw his eyes flicker with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“You’s should be recoverin’, not worryin’ ‘bout me.”

“Crutchie, if you’re thinking, even for a second, that what happened was your fault, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“I’s should stopped it from happenin’,” Crutchie gripped her hand tighter.

“You tried to stop me. I was just too stubborn to listen.”

“You’s had every right to fight. I’s jus’ shoulda been able ta help ya.”

Violet’s face fell. “Oh, Crutchie,” she leaned onto her side so she could connect both of their hands. “Nothing anyone could have done would have changed anything. Not at the rally…not in that factory. There’s nothing you or anyone else could have done.”

“But someone who wasn’t a gimp. He woulda been—“

“No,” Violet threw caution to the wind and pulled herself closer to where Crutchie was crouched beside the cot. He stared up at her wide eyed as she continued. “The foreman from the factory—he beats us sometimes— how would you feel if I told you I deserved it because I’m a woman?” Crutchie opened and closed his mouth. “You’re not any less of a person or any less capable, just because you have a physical disability. Just like I’m not any less of a person, because I’m a girl.”

The steadfast determination and honesty in Violet’s eyes made Crutchie’s breath catch in his throat. “You’s an amazing goil,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. “I’s thought I’d lost ya before. I’s jus’ mad at myself for not bein’ able ta do more.”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yeah, because Evie helped.”

“Anyone would have needed help, Crutchie. Wait—Evie was here?” Violet glanced around the room.

“Yeah, went out for a soda with Blink, though.”

Violet laughed. “See?” She relaxed back against the cot and looked at Crutchie. “You made that happen too.”

“Suppose I’s kinda did,” Crutchie allowed himself to grin a little.

They were quite for a moment as he stroked her hands in his own and watched her rest. 

“Do you have any paper?” Violet asked quite suddenly.

“Sure,” Crutchie walked over to his cot and took two sheets and a pencil out from his learning box. “What cha got planned?”

“Going to write out that song I played for you today.”

“Dat one Mr. Berlin liked?”

“Yeah,” Violet slowly sat up and propped her back up against the pillows.

“Here,” Crutchie reached for one of David’s old school books and gave it to her. “So’s you’s can write on somethin’.”

Violet smiled and watched Crutchie’s eyes shine with anticipation.

He watched her for hours. She hummed a few lines, ghosted her fingers over imaginary piano keys, and wrote little dots all of lines. At one point, Jack came back with soup and bread for them and laughed out loud at their matching flushed faced. It wasn’t until Violet finished the last little black dot, that she put the paper aside.

***

Crutchie wasn’t sure if Jack allowing him private access to his penthouse was a smart idea or not, but he was both contented and extremely thankful. Jack had assured him that he would be out late with Katherine and possibly be staying the night in her new apartment ( _a gentlemen don’t kiss n’ tell, Crutch_ , he’d said with a wink) and that nobody would be using his penthouse for the night. He did, however, take Crutchie aside before he left and told him to be smart. Not to do anything too quick or stupid. And Crutchie had read between the lines, blushed scarlet, and nodded frantically.

Easier said than done, though, he realized as Violet got comfortable on the blanket beside him. Yeah, this was how Mush had almost gotten into trouble with one girl and why Race had suddenly become so insistent on needing his own space.

Violet glanced over at him, smiled, and then looked up at the stars again.

“It’s really nice out here,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” Crutchie’s hand twitched slightly where it rested mere millimetres from her own. “I’s come out here all da time with Jack. He does his paintin’ an’ I’s read.”

“You really like to read, don’t you?”

“I’s gotten a lot better at it. Don’t take me so long ta read a book now. I’s can actually finish ‘em on time an’ get ‘em back to da Library without wonderin’ how da story ends.”

“Do you have a favourite book?”

“Awe jeez,” Crutchie furrowed his brow in concentration. “I dunno.”

“Mine’s Wuthering Hights.”

“Dat’s by one of ‘em Bronte ladies, right?”

Violet’s eyes twinkled at his recognition. “Yes!”

“I’s ain’t read dat yet,” he said, making note of the book’s title. “I’s read Pride n’ Prejudice, though.”

“Did you like it?”

“Kinda,” Crutchie sighed. “I’s didn’t like dat Mr. Darcy fella too much. I guess he’s alright by the end, but…”

“He does have a way of trying your patience, doesn’t he?” Violet snickered. “What about The Adventures of Tom Sawyer?” She thought back to the book she’d found in the attic.

“Oh _yeah_ ,” Crutchie’s eyes lit up as her shifted to face her. “Mark Twain, he’s jus—I dunno— he gets it, ya know? I mean, I’s ain’t a drifter or nothin’, but I’s get da way he’s writin’ an’ what he’s tryin’ ta say.”

“I understand,” Violet met his gaze of adoration. “Crutchie?”

“Yeah?”

“If you could be anyone,” she paused. “Do anything in the world, what would you want to do?”

Crutchie stared at her for a moment. Her shining eyes danced with excitement and inspiration. “Jeez, I dunno…” he thought hard. “I’s never even considered anythin’ like dat. I mean, I’s never even been ta school properly.”

“I’m saying if that wasn’t an issue. If money wasn’t an issue. If you could be whoever you wanted and do whatever you wanted.”

“I’s never thought like dat before,” Crutchie knew his answer wasn’t what Violet wanted to hear. He tried to elaborate. “See, when I’s younger an’ when we was on strike, Jack used ta come out here with me an’ talk ‘bout Santa Fe. He used ta tell me dat he’d take me there and dat we’d get outta this place. I’s used ta believe him. Even last year, during da strike, I’s believed him. But now he’s gettin’ real close with Katherine an’ he ain’t goin’ nowhere and I’s respect ‘em for dat. He belongs here wit his goil and his new job,” he took in a shuddering breath. “Suppose dat’s the last time I’s really dreamed somethin’ crazy like dat.”

“Charley,” Violet put a careful and feather-light hand on his cheek. “You’re never too old or too late to have crazy dreams. Besides,” she looked into his eyes. “I think it’s good for us to be wild and do something outrageous once in a while.”

“You’s really think so?” Crutchie could feel his face heating up where her hand was. God, the affect she had on him.

“I do,” she murmured.

“I suppose,” he tried to suppress a shudder when Violet shifted to move a little closer to him.“Suppose I’s write somethin’ of me own. Maybe take a writin’ class or somethin’ an’ den try writin’ down a couple stories.”

“Your own great American novel.”

“Somethin’ like dat,” Crutchie blushed further. “I’s only wrote a couple t’ings so far. Jus’ a few lines o’ poetry here an’ there.”

“That’s wonderful! Can I read some?”

“I—uh—“

“If you don’t want to share, that’s fine!” Violet dropped her hand.

Crutchie took in a deep breath. “S’fine,” he got up slowly. “I’ll show ya a couple o’ t’ings. Be right back.”

He crept back into the lodge, hardly making a sound despite his crutch, while Violet waited. Had she pushed him too far? Were things moving too fast? What was going on between them? For a fraction of a second she allowed herself to believe there was. She’d never felt flustered around a boy before. Then again, no boy had ever payed any attention to her. Maybe Crutchie was just being kind. He was kind. Maybe he was too kind to reject her completely. She was too much and not enough at the same time. Too much personality and not attractive enough.

Violet’s mind was worrying a mile a minute.

By the time Crutchie came back, she’s wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Hey,” he whispered and slowly placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’s okay?”

“Oh yeah,” Violet tried to perk up.

“You sure?”

“Those your poems?”

Violet held out her hand, but Crutchie held the papers back. “You’s avoidin’ da question. I’s ain’t handin’ these ovah till you’s answer.”

Violet bowed her head for a moment. “It’s just…” she took in a shaky breath. “I thought there might be something between us, but—“ she sniffed. “I’m kidding myself, right? I’m just imagining things. I’m too much.”

“What?” Crutchie tucked his pages under their blanket and scooted closer to her. “What’re you’s talkin’ bout, too much?”

“Too loud. Too opinionated. Too determined. Too…”

Crutchie reached out to cup her cheek as her voice trailed off. “Too amazin’ you mean.”

“You’d don’t mean that.”

“Sure I do,” Crutchie said firmly. “I’s t’ink you’s about da most incredible goil I’s evah met.”

“You don’t think I’m too much.”

“Not at all. Your poisonality,” he smiled down at her flushed face. “Da way you’s talk ‘bout t’ings dat matter to you’s. Da way you’s play da piano. I’s can’t get enough o’ dat.”

“That’s really what you think?”

“You’s wanna know what I really think?” Crutchie dropped his hand and grasped the first page from under the blanket. “Here,” he handed it to her. “Dis is what I’s t’ink.”

_I met someone today_

_That just happened my way_

_She looked like light and sun,_

_And spoke like we’d begun,_

_A magic kind of dance,_

_A little touch romance,_

_she’s everything I’d need,_

_I’m a happy man indeed._

Violet mouthed the words as she read, completely stunned and overwhelmed. She read it twice over. Halfway through her third time, her breath caught in her throat and she dropped the page onto her lap and stared up at Crutchie.

“You wrote this?”

“Right after I’s met ya. Before we’s went for suppah at Tibbey’s,” Crutchie whispered shakily.

Violet tucked the page back under the blanket and raised herself up so their noses were practically brushing.

Crutchie coughed nervously. “We’s—ya know—alone up here an’ I’s—“ Violet put her hand on his shoulder, but he tried to keep himself in check and swallowed hard. “I’s tryin’ ta not be a scoundrel here.”

Violet giggled and blushed bright pink. “I kinda wish you’d be more of one.”

“So you’s wouldn’t mind if…?” He inched even closer to her so he could feel her warm breath hit his face. She had freckles. And bright green flecks amongst the blue in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“O-okay… so, just ta be clear, if I’s were ta kiss ya…”

Violet nodded her head ever so slightly and let out a small sigh when she felt Crutchie place a warm hand on her cheek. Her eyes closed and then, through some crazy circumstance that she didn’t quite understand at all, she became the happiest girl in the world.

Crutchie connected their lips and suddenly none of the stories Mush or Racetrack told mattered at all. Violet’s lips were far too soft and far too warm to be allowed. She kissed him back, tentatively at first, because it was her first kiss too, and Crutchie couldn’t help the small groan that escaped his throat. He was about to be embarrassed, pull back and apologize, when Violet’s hand made it’s way into his hair and _oh wow_ that’s why a gentlemen doesn’t kiss and tell. His toes practically curled in his boots as he kissed her again, more firmly this time, and dropped his hands to her waist. Their lips slanted, eager and excited as their hands fumbled in uncharted territory. Crutchie’s hands trailed up and down Violet’s back, memorizing as they went, while her hands weaved their way through his hair.

“Vi—“ Crutchie managed between kisses.

“Hmm?” Violet hummed as he pulled back to place a soft kiss to her cheek.

“You’s—“ he kissed behind her ear, causing her to shudder. “Make me da happiest man alive.”

Violet let out a kind of _oh_ and tugged on his hair when Crutchie’s kisses made their way down her neck and God, she had no idea kissing would be so delicious and perfect. She felt him shudder she reconnected their lips.

A horse whinnied from the streets below them.

They broke apart, all flushed and out of breath.

“We should…” Violet didn’t know how to continue.

“Slow down,” Crutchie finished and connected their hands between them.

Violet nodded slowly. “Probably.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Anyone could come up here.”

“Dat’s true,” Crutchie’s heart was racing. “An’ den we’d have some explainin’ ta do.”

Violet giggled and placed her head on his shoulder. “I really like you, Charlie.”

“I really like you’s too, Violet.”

They stayed silent for a couple of seconds, smiling like fools and sneaking glanced at each other.

“Can I see your poem again?”

“Sure,” Crutchie snatched it out from under the blanket and handed it to her. “You’s like it dat much?”

“I like it so much, I’d like to use it.”

“Use it?”

“For my song. Do you mind?”

“Ya mean, my woids, they’s gonna be, like, lyrics?” Crutchie’s eyes widened as Violet held out his poem next to her sheet of notes.

“If you’d like,” Violet felt beside her for the pencil.

“I’d love it!” Crutchie exclaimed excitedly. Violet beamed up at him and began scribbling his words underneath a series of black dots that made absolutely no sense to Crutchie. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe his poem, words he’d scribbled down in chicken scratch, were being turned into a song.

“There,” Violet wrote down the last word. “What do you want to call it?”

“Gosh, I dunno,” Crutchie looked down at the page. “How’s somethin’ like Little Romance?”

“That’s lovely!”

“Ya think?”

“Yes, yes, absolutely!” Violet wrote the words in block letters on the top of the page. “Now we just need to add our names.”

“Me last name’s Morris.” 

“Morris and Ramano,” Violet said with a smile. She was about to write the name on the top of the page, when Crutchie reached out to stop her hand. “What?” She stared up at him.

“Make it Ramano foist. You’s wrote da tune, you’s should come foist. Ramano an’ Morris. Dat woik for you?”

Violet turned to face him completely and kissed him. Firmly and purposefully on the lips.

“Mmmpf—“ Crutchie made a kind of surprised noise but relaxed into the kiss. He wanted to kiss her again, but she pulled away with a blush.

“That works for me.”

“O-okay.”

“Will you come with me to bring it to Mr. Berlin tomorrow?”

Crutchie smiled from ear to ear and wrapped his arm around Violet. “Course I will. We’s can go togethah.”


End file.
